


My Stupid Rival Is Not Handsome!

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ending up in the future is disorienting enough, it is doubly troublesome when the first person you meet is your rival from the future...even more so when you realize they've grown to be handsome.</p><p>As it is, a younger Altair doesn't want to find any version of Malik attractive, but he can't help but find the one-armed Dai that fishes him out of the water easy on the eyes. He cannot help it anymore than a younger Malik could stop the way his face heats up whenever he makes eye contact with the young Grandmaster leading them in the future.</p><p>A kink meme fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Stupid Rival Is Not Handsome!

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt asked for Altair and Mailk ending up in the future and being attracted to each other's future selves. Original prompt [here](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=9713667) along with the unbeta'd version as well as my fail!post.
> 
> The prompt asked for unadulterated fluff, but some sad things still sneaked in (I somehow managed to avoid the topic of Kadar though, so...yay me?)

Altair wasn't sure what happened. One moment he was walking on solid ground, then suddenly, in the space between one step and the next, there was no ground beneath his feet.

He fell face first into the water with a splash.

He pushed himself out of the water, flailing wildly before falling onto his backside. Luckily the water wasn't so deep, only coming up to his shoulders when he sat up. (He hadn't been able to stop the brief moment of panic because _shit, he can't swim._ )

He coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and his chest heaved as if he couldn't quite get anough air.

There's the sound of splashing, of someone walking in the water coming towards him and Altair cursed. He had hoped that no one would be around to see.

There's a hand on his elbow, clad in the black sleeves of a Dai's robe. Altair's eyes followed the line of the sleeve but didn't lift his head much, only peeking up from under the edge of his grey novice hood.

And he stared. There was something familar about that face, but at the same time Altair was sure he'd have remembered it if they'd met. He wouldn't forget a face like _that_.

"Are you all right?"

At the question Altair looked down, further obscuring his face in the shadow of his hood.

"Yes." He answered curtly, pulling his arm away and scrambling to stand up. He reached up and tried to pull his hood lower, as he angled his body so he was looking away from the man, hoping to hide the burning of his cheeks. His motions were meant to look casual because it's bad enough to be caught in such an embarrassing situation in the first place.

There is silence for a moment, then the sound of someone standing, and a warm chuckle that made Altair frown.

He glared at the man out of the corner of his eye, still mostly hidden by his hood, "What?" He asked, irritated but...oh. The man's smile is nice. Like, really, really nice and Altair could almost overlook the fact that it was at his expense.

Almost.

Before he can decide whether to be affronted or embarrassed, he was being turned around by the shoulder (not shoulders. There was only a hand on one) so he was facing the other way. Then the hand was on his back, pushing him to back towards the bank.

"Come, let us return to dry land." The man remarked dryly and his voice was deep, but smooth and...fuck. Why was he acting like some love struck maiden? "I may not hate the water as the Grandmaster does, but I'd rather we dried our clothes before we catch our death's cold."

It was the mention of Al Mualim that had Altair looking over his shoulder. "Al Mualim doesn't like water?"

The man looked down at him, his mouth turned up in one corner in a smirk...then it faded into a frown and suddenly Altair realized why he was so familiar.

He looked an awful lot like Malik like this. Malik if he were older, perhaps. (And maybe if he smiled at Altair more instead of always scowling.)

The hand at his back dropped and, oddly enough, it was instincts that made Altair take a step back. The Dai looked at him with suspicion all of a sudden and it made Altair nervous.

He switched briefly to his Second Sight, confirming that, yes, the man did indeed glow blue. When the grey in the landscape faded away the look on the man's face had changed again.

It was still irritated, but his hand (his only one, Altair realized belatedly) moved to replace a throwing knife back into the folds of his robe and Altair stared for a moment, trying to remember when he'd drawn it.

"Tell me, novice." The voice was carefully neutral and Altair could discern nothing from it, "What is your name?"

Altair squared his shoulders, "Altair Ibn-La'Ahad."

Not-Malik sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if Altair was causing him a headache, then said, in defeat, "Of course you are."

~ + ~

There was a novice at his desk.

Altair stood in front of his desk and stared.

It wasn't as if novices couldn't come up to the Mentor's table. In fact, Altair made sure everyone knew that they were always free to come speak to him if they feel the need to.

Usually, though, they do not take a seat behind his desk, nor do they normally fall asleep in his chair with their head pillowed on their arms. On his desk.

So Altair wasn't entirely sure what to make of this. He walked over, standing at the front of the desk and watched the rise and fall of the novice's back for a few moments before reached out to shake him by his shoulder.

The novice grumbled sleepily and attempted to move away from the touch. It made Altair's mouth quirk up in a faint smile. It was similar to the response he got from Malik on occasion, but only when the man was exhausted or felt it safe to sleep so deeply.

He shook the shoulder again, more firmly this time.

"Novice. Wake up."

There's another grumble, but this time the boy pushes off the table and lifts his head to blink at Altair blearily in a way that was so much like Malik those few times when he fell asleep at his desk that Altair couldn't help but stare.

Surely it wasn't possible...

The novice, unaware of Altair's scrutiny only glanced around, still not entirely awake.

"Kadar?" He asked, confused and, yes, there wasn't any doubt about it, it was Malik. But not his Malik, no.

"What sorcery is this?"

The novice straightened, snapping from half asleep to completely awake in moment. And, whatever trickery this was, it was a _good_ one. Everything from the way the novice took stock of his surroundings immediately, to the way he watched Altair, wary and suspicious were all so very _Malik_...

...and Altair's eyes fell on the boy's left arm and it was _whole_ and it made something tight lodge in his chest.

"Who are you?" Malik (but if he was here then where was his Malik? Did something happen?) asked, pushing the chair back so that he could stand and properly defend himself if it come to it, probably. "Why are you wearing the robes of the Mentor?"

Altair stared.

"...I'm not sure you'll believe me if I tell you."

~ + ~

Sitting just beyond the lake, Malik rubbed the bridge of his nose again and came to this conclusion: "This must be Altair's fault."

And at that, Altair, younger Altair, glared at him.

"I already told you--"

"That you do not know what happend." Malik interrupted with a wave of his hand, "I remember. I did not mean you. I meant my Altair."

The novice ducked his head at his words and Malik can't remember Altair ever acting this way to being dissmissed. Actually, when he thought about it, this younger Altair had been acting strange since they got out of the lake.

Like when Malik asked him to strip out of his tunics. The boy had spluttered and out-right refused for some reason Malik couldn't even begin to fathom. Surely Altair hadn't been this stupid and hard-headed as child.

"You will be warmer out of your wet clothes. There is no point in pretending you are not cold."

He laid the clothes as well as both their boots on the grass to dry in the sun and was about to do the same to his own Dai robes (only the edges of his robes and his pants were wet so it wasn't necessary, but his outer robes were heavy enough without the added weight of water dragging it down).

He'd paused though, when he noticed Altair shivering where he was sitting on the ground. He sighed, then walked back and draped his robes over Altair's shoulders and the boy had stared at him with wide eyes. Malik only raised a brow before arranging the wet ends of the dark robe so it was spread out.

And at some point, Altair had pulled the robes close and buried his face in them which was...odd, to say the least. Especially since there was a faint flush to his cheeks.

Maybe he's already caught a cold. It would certainly explain the flush in his cheeks.

With that in mind, Malik leaned over to place the back of his hand on Altair's forehead...only to have the boy jerk back.

"What are you doing!?"

Malik rolled his eyes. "I am checking for a fever. Now hold still..."

"I'm fine!" Altair snapped, pulling the black robes closer and scowled as he scooted back. Malik glared disapprovingly. If he went and sat on the wet ends, they'll never dry properly.

When he thinks about it, Altair might just be sullen at being caught in such an awkward way by his rival. Or future rival.

What a mess this situation was.

At least Altair had taken the news of the situation well enough. That was one thing to be thankful for. He was also thankful that Altair hadn't asked or lingered too long on his missing arm, though he wondered how much of it was actually due to consideration.

Either way, Malik would count his blessings, since he half-expected him to rub it in. They had never been particularly kind to each other when they had been younger.

When Altair started to fidget it draws a sigh from Malik. He never could sit still for very long.

He considered his options.

Walking back into the fortress to find the-Altair-who-is-most-likely-at-fault isn't something he wanted to try until their clothes were dry and he could walk Altair-who-is-wrapped-up-in-Malik's-robe with his hood on. Just in case anyone else notices the similarities.

But Altair is liable to do something stupid if they stay here doing nothing any longer.

He thinks about it before standing.

"Come, there is a sparring area that is usually empty this time of day."

~ + ~

Malik required considerably more convincing, but Altair supposed he wasn't really surprised by that.

He had asked a series of incredibly shrewd questions, a few were traps, meant to trip Altair up. But Altair had answered them all, some more honestly than others. When questioned on _that_ the only response he got was this one:

"There are some things you are better off not knowing yet, novice."

And it had rankled to be called a novice by Altair of all people no matter what his age, but before Malik could protest there was a hand ruffling his hair and the smile on Altair's face was so sincere in its apology that Malik just looked away with a short, 'tch'.

Still, when Malik was done grilling him, he was quiet for a moment and Altair left him to digest what he has learnt.

"It is strange to think of you as the Mentor." He cocked his head and frowned. "In fact, it is strange to think that you are Altair at all."

Which was an understatement. The Altair he knew certainly did not act like this man with his strange little smiles and calm voice.

And Malik certainly couldn't remember any time he'd spoken to Altair in the past that didn't end in an argument or come to blows. Or any time in his entire _life_ when he'd thought the other novice was handsome in anyway.

There is a secret smile on this Altair's face as he ducked his head.

"I have been told that I am not the man I once was."

Malik did not want to be close to Altair. It is bad enough that his face is flushing everytime the man so much as met his eyes (looking so very fond that it makes Malik's face flush). Still, after hesitating, he walked around the Mentor's desk, coming to the front. He had always wondered what Altair was hiding underneath his hood, and perhaps, being shorter than this man who claims to be Altair and yet acts nothing like his arrogant rival, had some uses after all.

Still, he hadn't expected to be allowed to walk right up and look into the man's face. He also didn't expect the expression he saw there, so fond and warm and yet _sad_ that he felt his throat catch. He pursed his mouth, briefly worrying his bottom lip with his teeth before asking, wanting to know who that expression was for.

"By whom?"

"By many people, but the first one to say it had been you."

~ + ~

Altair had agreed to a spar because he thought it would be a good distraction from...well. Malik. Except it wasn't _Malik_ , exactly. (He could not bring himself to think of him as 'his' the way this Malik had so casually called the older Altair his.)

When he ended up on his back for the fifth time in a row, he had to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all.

Not because he was clearly out-classed (even if it was a blow to his pride), but because if he had found Malik attractive before, it was even worse now.

The Malik he knew was always very economical and precise with his movements. There were hardly ever any wasted moves, and his techniques were always clean and brutal, taking any advantage he can find and always thinking moves ahead and laying traps for his opponents.

The style this older Malik used was the same one and losing an arm doesn't seem to have affected his skills negatively. Age has refined the brutality of his strategies and all the rough edges in the way he fought had been sanded away until it was practically flawless. Altair suspected he was going easy on him, but it hardly mattered when he still won every single time, and usually within a few strikes.

He had taken Malik's already economic movements and pared it down even further and it was...it was _brilliant_.

Altair breathed in deeply as he stared up at the sky and he remembered the triumphant glint in Malik's eyes when he fell into his trap. He remembered how it made his mouth go dry right before an elbow was driven into his stomach.

Malik clicked his tongue.

"Your footwork is sloppy. It has served you well enough so far, but you will find yourself in trouble one day if you don't correct it soon."

Altair grunted in lieu of giving a proper reply. For his insolence, Malik tossed his tunics and hood (now only slightly damp) onto his face.

~ + ~

When Altair caught some of the scholars peering in their direction curiously, he knew it would be prudent to move this encounter elsewhere.

"Let's go back to my study. After that, I'll see if I can find...well, you, actually." He finished, bemused. (But there is an undercurrent of _worry_ because he has no idea where Malik is or what had happened to him.)

"The me from your time, you mean."

And somehow, it was just like Malik to differentiate. It took great effort for Altair not to laugh (he would probably take it poorly) but he's never been very good at hiding from Malik, it seems, because the novice just shot him a narrow-eyed look.

Instead of answering, Altair reached out for him, watched the way Malik frowned and leaned away from his hand with a blush. Altair thinks he might even be holding his breath.

Altair was aiming for somewhere behind his shoulder, though, in order to grab a hold of the grey novice hood and pull it up in a smooth motion.

He really did chuckle this time at Malik's undignified yelp.

"You should keep that up for now." He said wryly and if his fingertips brushed Malik's cheek, well, Malik had become rather immune to being teased over the years.

(Altair thinks, idly, that he had been foolish to waste this oppurtunity as a novice. They had both been.)

Then he turns and starts walking away.

There is a beat, and then Malik hurries to follow him and Altair slows his steps so they fall into step with each other.

They reach the Mentor's study in relative quiet and Altair muses how strange it is to be walking side by side with Malik and yet not shoulder to shoulder.

He left Malik there with the offer to take any scroll he wanted for reading. The most important and secret documents were all safely locked away so he could have free reign to read whatever it was he wanted.

Altair didn't move to leave just yet though and, noticing this, Malik raised a brow at him. His gaze drifts again to Malik's left arm. The boy is probably no more than seventeen, but for an assassin that is old enough to face hardships. Their very lives were built around such things.

But, all the same, Altair wanted to spare him as much pain as he could (to make up for, perhaps, all the pain he could not shield him from, those that happened away from him and those he caused himself).

He let out a quiet breath.

"Before I go, there is something you should know."

~ + ~

"You are close to the Mentor?"

Without breaking step, Malik turned to look at Altair from his peripheral vision.

Altair appeared to be looking ahead, but Malik had enough experience with his Altair to know that he was using his hood to help hide the fact that he's actually watching Malik.

It seemed some habits had been formed early.

"You mentioned earlier his dislike of water." Altair elaborated unecessarily and Malik wondered what the point of this line of questioning was, especially when he was sure Altair was fishing for something specific. "You spoke as if you knew him well."

"I do, but not the Mentor you are thinking of." Malik answere simply, returning his full attention to the hallway again.

"There is a new Mentor?" Altair sounded surprised, "Who is he?"

Malik let that question hang between them as he considered the answer. Since he was, in fact, looking for his Altair, there was little point in hiding the true identity of the Mentor. Still, he was certain Altair (this younger version, at least) would be insufferable if he knew and Malik wasn't quite ready to deal with the boy strutting around like a puffed up peacock right now.

"Well? Who is it?"

The impatient question only sealed the deal and Malik clicked his tongue.

"The current Mentor is an idiot novice."

Silence followed his statement then a growl, "Be serious."

"I am being perfectly serious." He looked out the corner of his eye and saw Altair's expression of disbelief and couldn't help but chuckle, "He is an idiot...but he wears his responsibilities well." Pause, "Even if he is constantly interrupting my work." He added dryly, but couldn't help the warmth in his voice when he talked about Altair.

Another pause, "And yet you still follow him."

"He is a fool," Malik admits freely because Altair often was, "but he is wise in many ways. The Order does well under his guidance." He should not be planting these ideas into Altair's head, that he will be great one day. After all, his pride certainly will need no feeding in the coming years. But at the same time, he cannot seem to help it.

There is another pause, but this one has a distinctly sullen quality to it. "I have never known you to suffer fools."

Malik raised a brow and, oh, this was rich. Was Altair actually jealous? Of _himself_?

Before Malik could make a comment about how jealousy was unbecoming though, a voice called out for him.

"Malik."

He turned and, ah. There was Altair, the older one. Malik spares the one beside him a brief glance and found some amusement in the way he gaped when he recognized, first the robes, then the person in them. He waits to see what reaction they will both have to this situation.

"I was looking for...you."

The last word trailed off as both Altairs stared at one another, both in shock, though the older one recovered first.

"There's another one?"

Malik frowned, "What do you mean, 'another one'?"

~ + ~

By 'another one' he, of course, meant the younger Malik who had set himself up in a corner of the study, with a scroll spread open in his lap. He was staring at the parchment, but his mind was a million miles away.

Before Altair left, he'd told Malik about his futre self's situation. To say he did not take it well was an understatement.

Malik had balked, before bitter disappointment crashed into him.

Then he lashed out at the only person close to him.

"So you're telling me I become a cripple." He had hissed.

But Altair only frowned and walked over to place his hands on Malik's shoulder and told him, no, he wasn't a cripple.

"You had lost an arm, but you are not weaker for it." Malik had trembled, whether from anger or hurt he wasn't sure, but Altair hadn't flinched, had looked straight into Malik's eyes with such sincertiy and such conviction that Malik could not find it in himself to disbelieve him. "You are one of the strongest people I know, Malik. You weathered losses that would have crushed a lesser man. You are no cripple."

Malik frowned at the parchment in his hands. There had been guilt in Altair's expression too, but Malik hadn't had the heart to ask about it then. He had been too stunned to because Altair had leaned in far too close for it to be proper. He did ask Altair this: why tell him now?

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to spare you as much pain as possible?"

He wouldn't have believed the Altair he knew would, no, but this older Altair, he had to admit, might. He suspected though, it might have been more for his older self's benefit than his.

Still, the words and the proximity made him flush, so all he did in response was grouse that he didn't need to be _coddled, least of all by you_.

The sound of the door opening jerked Malik back into the present and, steeling himself, he looked up.

There was Altair and...Altair, the one who was more annoying but also more familiar to him. Then there was...him. Malik's eyes were drawn to where his left arm was supposed to be before returning his gaze to the scroll on his lap. The disappointment sat heavy in his gut and he is sure he did not look away fast enough to hide it entirely. He did not look at his own face at all, could not bring himself to truly face his own future where he apparently was no longer the assassin he had trained his entire life to be.

"I see you found him." He said dully with little inflection, determined not to look at any one of them.

~ + ~

In retrospect, Altair wasn't sure why he hadn't expected Malik to take all this poorly.

Still, even if he lost his arm in the future, he still became a Dai, and it's not like it's even a problem. So at the same time, Altair couldn't really understand why he was sulking about it. His one attempt at bringing it up had been met with a furious glare and earned him a kick to his shin when he sat down beside Malik (the younger one). Altair had kicked him back, but after that they were more or less content to just ignore each other.

Well. Content probably wasn't the right word.

Altair watched (had been watching the whole way here) their older selves interact with something caught between mortification and envy. It wasn't that they were overtly physical in their affections and, in fact, Altair hadn't recognized it for what it was at first. But it was there in his older self's eyes, written plain as day, and in the way their hands brushed from time to time as they walked, as if by accident, but the way the older Malik would turn everytime and make an exasperated face tells another story.

That he doesn't do anything to stop it from happening again only emphasizes it.

He couldn't decide if he was embarrassed at the open affection on his older self's face, or jealous of the way older Malik looked at him when he thought his older self wasn't looking.

Even when he's scolding the older Altair there's an undercurrent of affection (however exasperated) hidden beneath it. He tried to imagine the Malik beside him looking at him like that and couldn't. He did not particularly care for it, either. Malik the Novice, was an insufferable bastard...even if he, apparently, grows up to be quite striking.

The features that look gawkish on the younger Malik's face look less so once he grows up (or maybe he just wears them better, it is difficult to pin point the exact reason why Altair's eyes keep being draw to the man's mouth). There was also a bulk to his frame, clearly noticeable even under his robes and Altair remembered the way he could see the muscles move when they had fought (remembered the moment when the older Malik had pinned him to the ground, the tip of his sword held against his throat and told him to yield, and the way it had left him dry-mouthed and gaping like a fish).

An elbow digging sharply into his side draws him out of his thoughts and he glares at (his) Malik who looked like he'd swallowed something unpleasant.

"What?" He hissed because their interactions have always been riddled with sharp words and competition (not lingering touches and fond looks).

"Stop that." Malik shoved him on the shoulder and Altair scowled.

"Stop _what_?"

They barely even noticed that the conversation from the other pair in the room had stopped as theirs rose not in volume but vehemence.

"Stop making eyes at--at him!" Immediately, when Malik stumbles over his choice of pronouns, Altair knew exactly who this was about.

His first instinct, naturally is to deny.

"I wasn't making eyes at anyone!"

Malik quirks a brow in a way that was infuriating, but noticeably hesitates to call him out on the lie. Altair wonders if this is all as mortifying for him as well. (It must be, right? Altair can't possibly be the only one disturbed by all this.)

But Malik wouldn't be Malik if he let this oppurtunity go so Altair isn't surprised at all when the conversation quickly devolves into an argument.

~ + ~

There is something surreal about watching their younger selves argue.

It was not unlike finding a piece of your childhood while cleaning the rooms you'd slept in since you were small. It's surprising, and more than a little nostalgic.

Altair might have been the only one to think that though, what with the way Malik had bodily dragged the boys apart and, after a brief lecture, decided the two novices glaring at each other without any pretense of subtlety lost causes and dragged the younger Altair out with him.

"We'll head to the library." Was the only thing he threw over his shoulder before the door shut behind them both. It wasn't hard to guess why Malik would rather drag Altair around than himself (and if that isn't the strangest thing he's thought recently he couldn't quite say what would deserve that honour). Even the Malik left behind seem to relax once the reminder of where his life will end up is gone from the room.

He watches Malik make a strangled sound of frustration before he threw himself to sit in his corner again. Altair walks over to pick up the scroll that had been thrown early into their argument, using the motion to hid his smile. It had been a long time since he has seen Malik sulk like this.

"Here." He handed it back to Malik, his mirth hidden well enough that it hadn't been caught (but the older Malik would have read it in his eyes, as clearly as he could the words on a page, unadorned and clear).

Malik scowled, petulant, but instead of snatching at the scroll, accepted it with as much grace as he could manage, "I still fail to see how the two of you are the same person."

Their fingers brush, and Malik is the one whose fingertips twitches back in surprise, hovering over Altair's for a moment before he moves his hand so he only touches the scroll.

Altair does not miss the blush that spreads over his cheeks, but wisely makes no comment about it.

"It had not been an easy change." He relinquishes the scroll easily, though Malik shows no indication of being interested in reading it. It is strange to have Malik looking at him so, looking as _he_ did. Altair is sure Malik had never looked at him with such open interest when they were younger. Malik chewed on his bottom lip, a habit of his when he was thinking. Sometimes it is answer by Altair leaning over to steal a kiss, just for the pleasure of having Malik's mouth partng in surprise and the flush that colours his cheeks at being caught off-guard.

He did not do it this time.

"You are in love with him."

It was not phrased as a question but there was a note of uncertainty in his tone, as if Malik couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"I am."

Malik looks surprised by his answer, as if he had expected Altair to deny it. After all, that is what he would have done when he was younger, when he equated closeness and affection to weakness. Back when he had been afraid of leaving himself open to others in such a way.

He is no longer afraid of such things.

His confession is unadorned and lacking the details of just how badly, how thoroughly he had fallen in love, but it is enough, apparently, to make the younger Malik flush and look down, hands clenching in his lap.

"...why? _How_? This is--" He shakes his head without looking up, "This is impossible."

Altair kneels down so the two of them are closer to eye level, reaching out with his hands to frame Malik's face. There is a flinch when he touches him, but Malik allows it when Altair gently tilts his head up. There is something open in his expression and so very fragile. It is pain of knowing that the future does not pan out the way he wished, and confusion of wanting something he does not believe he wanted.

(It is one thing, Altair supposed, to be told that you fall in love with your most hated rival, and a whole other to see it.)

"We did not make it easy on each other." Because even after Malik had forgiven him, there remained still many barriers between them, uncountable losses and pain that at times seemed an uncrossable chasm, "We hurt each other often and many times worse than anyone else could do." He thumbs at Malik's cheek and it is a strange thing, to be towering over Malik when they had spent so much of their lives being close in height, as if their very bodies were in competition with each other and did not want to lose any ground. "But it gets better. _We_ get better and there will be a day when there is no space in my heart for anyone besides you and it will be the same for you."

There is no real purpose in telling him all this. It will not change any of what will happen. He can tell from the way Malik looked at him as if he could still scarcely believe any of it. But, even if it may be useless, Altair wanted him to know that things do get better, that, perhaps, in his darkest hours, he may remember these words and be consoled that for all his losses, the future is not a bleak one.

He was done speaking. There were no more words left for him to say that were not damning and useless (because his apologies meant nothing to this Malik who had yet to suffer all that his Malik had), but he found himself reluctant to let go.

When he lingers, a flush spreads over Malik's cheeks again, but he does not pull back.

Altair had seen the admiration on his face before this, but for the first time he realized that if he leaned in to kiss him, Malik would allow it.

They were not each other's first in many things. Malik's first kiss, he knows, had been given to a man who had later broken his heart. Altair did not resent the man for his follies, because that which he had so callously thrown away had fallen into Altair's hands...and he will not make the same mistake of letting go.

But, for all his changes, he is still greedy and, presented with the chance to steal this for himself he found it difficult to refuse.

~ + ~

It had been difficult, having to see the disapointment in the face of his younger self.

Malik was almost glad for any excuse to leave the room.

It did not mean, however, that he approved of the fight the two novices had gotten themselves into and it did not stop Malik from scowling. It did, however, stave off the tongue lashing Malik had wanted to give them both.

He doubted it would get through either of their thick skulls anyway. He would only be wasting his breath.

They walked in silence down the hall. It is not the most straightforward route to the library, but the one that is most likely to be empty at this time of day. Even with Altair's hood up, it is better to avoid people.

"What good would going to the library do?" Altair complained (of course he did).

The worst part was that Malik knew the library would hold nothing of use. He is only doing this because... 

"It will save us having to stop the two of you from fighting." There is a rebuke in his tone, one that Altair has apparently decided to ignore.

"Then let us go to the sparring ring again. If there is nothing useful for us to do." Altair says dissmissively, as if it were of no real interest to him what they did, but Malik has the benefit of knowing Altair for many years. He can hear the hidden interest, notes it in the way Altair's eyes linger on him longer a breath longer than necessary.

Malik only snorts, "I do not remember you ever being so eager to lose." He also did not remember it being so easy to get along with Altair in their youth. They had fought at every turn, disagreed on everything except the need to best each other. He remembers growing to hate Altair's arrogance as they grew up, but though his pride is great, the youth before him is a far cry from the arrogant man who had lost Malik his arm and brother.

Now, years later, it was difficult to pinpoint when things had changed. (Was there anything he could have done differently? Perhaps if he had been able to push his own jealousy aside and talk to Altair civilly--)

"The novices will be starting their combat training soon." He continued when it looked like Altair wanted to protest further, "There will be fewer people in the library."

They walk in silence, but not the sort that was meant to last. It was the sort of silence that precludes a question one party is hesitating on. Altair was well known for not having much patience in his youth, however, how long it takes him to ask his question is more dependent on the nature of the question. There were some things, Malik knew, Altair would rather cut out his own tongue than ask.

It seems that whatever was bothering him was one such thing.

Malik rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to decide if it was worth bringing up...whether he _wants_ to deal with this at all. Before he could come to a decision, he turns when Altair calls his name.

"Wha--"

He had to swallow the rest of his words when Altair crashed against him hard enough that their teeth clicked together. Malik was aware that people were not born knowing how to kiss, but even knowing that couldn't have prepared him for how spectacularly bad Altair was doing right now.

Malik leaned back, keeping his forearm across Altair's chest to hold him back.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I thought it was obvious." And Altair...he didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. It should be irritating, and maybe when Malik had been a novice he would have just shoved him away and stormed off. But despite his lack of shame, Malik could tell that Altair was nervous.

It was not obvious, unless you knew the little tells and Malik knew all those very well.

The posturing was not endearing, but the nervousness was familiar. His Altair had looked at him similarly the first time they'd kiss. He did not expect to see the expression now, on the face of this boy.

Malik shook his head and backed Altair into the wall, is surprised when Altair allowed it to happen.

"That is not how you kiss someone." 

~ + ~

The kiss hadn't been unexpected.

Malik had be too busy trying to think over the sound of his pounding heart and the unreasonable jealousy over _himself_ , for being able to recieve the attention of this Altair to be guessing at his intentions.

But when Altair moved in, it is with deliberate slowness, giving Malik enough time to say no or to pull away, of which he did neither.

He had expected roughness when he slid his eyes shut right before their lips touched, had expected teeth and perhaps to be shoved back because he has never known Altair to be gentle.

Yet, Malik is surprised, when it starts as nothing but a soft press of lips. The hands on his face tilt his head back to adjust the angle, but they neither pull him forward or push him back. It left him feeling off-kilter, like the feeling of taking another step down a flight of stairs only to stumble when he realized he had already reached the bottom.

It left him unable to respond as Altair's lips moved, languidly against his, until the moment he feels Altair moving back, feels the hand on his face begin to slide away.

Malik draws in a sharp breath, only realizing then that he had stopped breathing at some point. Then his hands shot out as his eyes snapped open, blindly grabbing at Aair's robes to keep him from pulling away.

It is a useless gesture because no one has even been able to make Altair stay unless he wanted to. That it is enough to keep him close enough that Malik can still feel his breath fanning over his own mouth makes his heart skip a beat.

Malik's fingers flex uselessly where they are tangl;ed in the frabic of Altair's robes. He cannot imagine what he must look like at this moment except that he can feel heat in his face all the way o the tips of his ears, but it makes Altair's mouth curve into a secret mile before he leans in to kiss him again.

This time he responds hesitantly, unsure of what to do, but unwilling to allow Altair to do all the work. He can feel the ridge of Altair's scar as their mouths move against each other and it is so very strange, to want this from _Altair_ of all people, but Malik's eyes slip shut again and he only knows that he doesn't want this to ever end.

He leans into it, wanting to take as much from this moment as he could--

\--then the warm, calloused hands on his face were gone all of a sudden and he only barely managed to stop himself from face planting when the body in front of him disappears just as abruptly.

~ + ~

The pleasant smell that clung faintly to the man's robes was almost over-powering in this proximity. Altair wondered if it would be stronger still if he pressed his face into the crook of this man's neck, as he had done by the water with his robes, so that he may better carry the memory back with him.

He finds himself frozen by the look in Malik's eyes, the one he had only seen directed at the older Altair. It was a look of love and desire, and even though neither were things he had ever desired from his Malik, he finds his lips parting slightly in anticipation, as Malik leans in--and stops, just close enough that when he sighs, Altair can feel the air being displaced. They hold this tableau for a beat, then something changed and Malik shakes his head.

"You are infuriating." He says dryly and to Altair's dismay, reaches up to smooth his hood back far enough to place a chaste kiss to his forehead instead before he's reaching out to untangle Altair's fingers from his robe.

"Wait!" Malik succeeds in removing one despite Altair's effort, by grabbing the pinky finger one one hand and gently, slowly and unrelentingly pulling it back. Pain makes Altair let go, but with his other he tries to jerk Malik back in. The end result was that one of Altair's hands remained trapped in Malik's and neither of them really manage what they wanted. "You--what was that!? If you are going to kiss me then do it properly, damn you!" He sneered, "Or is it that you do not know how?"

But Malik only rolled his eyes, "Such taunts have not worked on me for years, Altair." He pins Altair's hand to the wall and holds his own arm as straight as he could. Altair glared, knowing that now he could not even jerk the other man in.

" _Malik._ " He growled, but it only illicited a laugh from Malik (a sound he is not used to hearing except when Kadar was around). Despite what Malik said, Altair is sure the man himself was the one who was infuriating. Altair does not enjoy being toyed with or teased and yet... 

...and yet the look in Malik's eyes is still warm with good humour and it makes Altair's flush worse than when he had nearly kissed him. The hand on his wrist shifts up until their hands are palm to palm and Malik's fingers fall into the cracks in between his own. There is a smile there, exasperated and fond and Altair's fingers bend, to take hold of Malik's hand--but then it is gone, taking with it the man whom it belonged to.

Altair stands there, for a moment feeling oddly stupid as he looked at the wall opposite from him now that nothing (no one) obstructs the way. He lets his hand drop to his side and if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Malik's scent, the echo of his laughter, and the warmth of his hand settled over his own.

His eyes snap open again when he heres the scuff of boots on stone, a sound someone deliberately made to alert him to their prescence. It was Malik, the one he butted heads with in the sparring ring (who grows up into a man that smiles at Altair with such affection that it can steal his breath away).

Neither of them say anything at first, not wanting to be the one to ask if what they had just seen had really happened (just in case it hadn't).

Malik clears his throat after a moment.

"Where were you just now, Altair?"

An innocuous question, but he can tell just from the look in Malik's eyes what he meant to ask.

"The same place you were, brother. In Masyaf." He pushed away from the wall with a frown, "but not the one we know."

Malik nodded and some tension seemed to seep out of his frame. He had worried that it hadn't been real, that he had merely dreamed the whole thing.

"What do you think brought us back?"

Of course, Malik would ask the difficult questions (though in truth Altair would like to know as well).

He merely shrugged, however. "Who knows? Perhaps it was something we had done right before we--" He stopped because Malik was suddenly red in the face.

"What?" Malik snapped when he caught Altair staring (and tried his best not to let his eyes wander to Altair's mouth).

"Nothing! You are the one blushing like some--like one of the girls from the village!"

"I am not!" Except he was. It would have been easy to see even if his hood had been up. They both knew it was a lie, but it occurred to Altair belatedly that, should he question this further it may possibly lead to what he had been doing right before they were whisked back to their present.

He did not like leaving their arguements unsettled, but, just this once, he did not want to continue with this.

"...we will never speak of this again."

Malik stared at him for a moment, then nodded, "Agreed."

~ + ~

"They are both gone then."

Malik closes the door behind him as he stepped back into Altair's private office.

"It would seem so." Altair was lounging on the pile of pillows previously occupied by the younger Malik. If Malik were being honest, he is...relieved that his younger self was no longer here.

He dropped down beside Altair with a sigh. He put himself on Altair's right as he always did and quickly found his hand trapped in Altair's hold.

It is comforting in its to have each other react the way they were accustomed to and they both relaxed more fully, linking their fingers together. Malik was the one to move first after that, leaning over to press a quick kiss to the corner of Altair's mouth. He does not pull away even as Altair turns to catch his mouth properly. The kiss is nothing like the chaste one he shared with a younger Malik, involving tonge and teeth as his other hand came up to brush over Malik's cheek.

"I should apologize." Altair asked as he nuzzled Malik's jaw with his nose.

It draws a short laugh from his Second and the sound is familiar, but no less addicting despite it. "What for?"

"I'm afraid," He leaned up and nipped at the spot of skin behind Malik's ear, "I may have taken advantage of the situation earlier."

It is Altair's turn to chuckle a Malik leans back and gaped at him.

"Altair! I was--he was at least a decade younger than you!"

Altair leans forward when Malik moves back, boxing him in and slowly pushing him back against the pillows.

"Peace, Malik. I only stole one kiss." And it pleased him that, somewhere, Malik would remember his first kiss fondly, instead of equating it with betrayal and heartbreak. "Two. If we are counting the one you demanded from me."

"You are incorrigible." Malik shook his head and, letting go of Altair's hand, thumped him on the shoulder lightly, "no matter what age you are it seems you do not know how to keep your hands to yourself."

"Oh?" Altair catches his hand and brings it over to place a kiss on a knuckle, "And what did I do before disappearing that has displeased you so?"

"He had the same idea you did, apparently." Malik rolled his eyes and shook off Altair's hand to hook it behind his neck to draw him down. "Then again, he _is_ you so I do not know why I am surprised."


End file.
